An Unvetted Life
by Not My Real Pen Name
Summary: Hermione shouldn't have said yes, but she desperate, as was he. She thought that they would be equals, but in their world, Tom was much more than she could ever be.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor will I profit from the publishing of this story. J.K. Rowling owns the rights to Harry Potter, while I own a lovely oscillating.

**A/N:** **First and foremost, Hermione and Tom will be somewhat OOC in this story. I just want to put that on the table because I recognize it.** Tom, no matter how he seems at times, is still a bit dark, just not in the same obvious way he is in most stories. If you're looking for the average evil! Tom Riddle, this is not the story for you.

The story takes place in a magical alternative universe where Tom grew up with his parents. That's the only thing I'll say at this point.

I wrote this a year ago, so the writing style might change in future chapters.

Lastly, I do not have a beta for this story, so I apologize for any grammatical errors.

How They Met

The bell above the shop's door chimed announcing a visitor to the small Willowyth bookstore. Now, this might seem like a normal occurrence with it being a shop and all. One would expect costumers, right?

Wrong!

_Questions and Answers_ wasn't a particularly busy bookstore. Not that the proprietress had known this before spending the last of her savings on it. Owning a bookstore had been her dream, so she purchased the little shop, in a small town, and now found herself practically penniless. The store barely broke even, which was sad considering the miniscule amount of her mortgage. This should have been a red flag. The United Kingdom was a costly country to live in…if you wanted to do it well. However, it was nothing compared to the Wizarding world. Someone at the top of the wizarding hierarchy, probably a pureblood, was under the impression that you could just conjure up money with magic. News flash, you couldn't. So she was aware it was expensive to live in her beloved country. And yet, she'd been so high on dreams filled with leather bound parchment that she hadn't considered that maybe, just maybe, there was a reason she could purchase a bookstore with the money in her savings. Or perhaps the English witch assumed that Wales was much less expensive than England. Who knows? It was more than likely that damn, rash Gryffindor trait had gotten her into this mess. And thus whenever the little bell above the door chimed, her head would pop up like a dog on the scent of bone, her tail practically waging for a treat. And she needed a treat, a shiny one that would pay the bills and leave her with a little to spend on herself.

Hermione's brown eyes followed a mop of black hair as it roamed around the small space. She couldn't see his face from her position at the counter in the front, but he was tall, slender and seemed to be impeccably dressed. She did notice, as per her job, that he didn't look at the books for long. He picked one up, opened the cover, turned it around, and replaced it on the shelf. This was never a good sign. Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. He hadn't been in the shop for long. She would give him a couple of minutes before making herself known.

_Not much later_

_Great, he's browsing,_ Hermione thought grumpily after watching him for all of five minutes. He was probably one of those rich pureblood snobs, who came to Willowyth for a bit of lark. Either that or he was wasting time while waiting for someone. It would not be the first time Q&A had been used as a rendezvous point. Well, he was either going to purchase something or leave her property. This wasn't a library.

Sliding off the stool, Hermione shook out her black broom skirt, straightened her back, and made her way over to the gentleman.

ooo

Ten short bookshelves made up five rows and took up most of the space in Questions & Answers. Four wooden tables, a few shabby, but comfortable looking chairs and an even shabbier couch made up a little sitting area after the last row of shelves. At least that's what he'd noticed in the few minutes it had taken him to walk down the aisle that separated the shelves on each row. Small, neat, and shabby were the first words that came to Tom Riddle's mind after his perusal of the little shop. The place looked clean, if little worse for wear, and he hoped that he might be able to find some quality books for a decent price. Although so far he'd realize the prices were on par with that of Flourish and Blotts. One would think that anyone deciding to open a bookstore in Willowyth would sell their books at a fraction of the price as stores in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. Hell, the prices should be less than the shops in Knockturn Alley.

Tom picked up another book from the shelf. It was brown with red writing and looked as if it had seen better days. He scanned the title, _Transfiguring Liquids by Maurice Bottwater. _"Interesting," he murmured, turning the book over and looking at the price. Thirty-five galleons! How ridiculous. Yes, the book was written by a master of transfigurations and was extremely advanced, so advanced that very few people could actually accomplish the tasks within. This book wasn't just about transfiguring coffee into tea, but delved into complicated subject of changing liquids into solids. It was the last lecture given in advanced Transfigurations during seventh year at Hogwarts and a brief one at that. Tom wasn't surprised the book was expensive, it was worth it; nevertheless, this copy wasn't. The spine was creased and the cover's edges were somewhat frayed. Whoever owned this shop must gouge their prices because it was the only bookstore in Willowyth. Not that there was much in the small, Welsh, wizarding seaside town to begin with. Although there'd been a rumor going around for a few years now that the town would soon be as busy as Hogsmeade. "Yeah right," he snorted, returning the book back to his shelf.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

Tom started at the sound of the feminine voice behind him. It was soft, a bit posh, and definitely not Welsh. It lacked the lyrical quality of a Welsh accent, which surprised him. Not that there was anything wrong with Wales. It was a beautiful country. It was just that English witches and wizards rarely came here because there wasn't a large population of wizards in Wales. In his estimation there were probably no more than fifty Welsh wizards in the whole of the United Kingdom.

So why did an English witch own a bookstore in Wales? Tom was certain she must be the proprietress. If she wasn't, then she was at least related to the owner. He could tell from looking at the pitiful shop that the owner wouldn't be able to afford employees.

Tom turned around and stared down at a small witch with riotous chestnut curls, a small nose, full pink lips, and a clear peaches and cream complexion. She was pretty, with a slightly stubborn chin, and round, brown doe eyes, which were currently staring at him curiously.

"Sir, is there something I can help you with?" She repeated, looking up at him. "Are you looking for something in particular?"

"No, I was just browsing." She gave an audible sigh, to which Tom raised a fine brow at.

"My apologies," she sighed, again. Her cheeks flushed prettily. "My mother would be appalled." She smiled in a self-deprecating manor, and shrugged. Her small shoulders seemed to say, 'go figure'. "Well, I will be up at the front if you change your mind."

Tom watched as she began to turn. "Wait, I was," he cleared his throat, "hoping that you had a discount section." He could feel his face wanting to flush, but he was Tom Riddle and therefore he didn't flush. Being broke was a damned nuisance. After four years, he still wasn't used to it.

This time it was she who raised an eyebrow. Her lips slightly thinned as she folded her arms across her chest. "Why would you think that my shop would have a discount section?"

_I knew it_, he thought. He was always correct…for the most part. "I didn't mean to offend." He assured her and paused, waiting for her to give the requisite negative.

"You didn't offend me," she tried to convince him, but another tale, tale blush was making itself up her cheeks.

"Good, I meant no offense."

"But the place is a little shabby," she conceded. "So I suppose one would get the impression that this is a discount store, even if the prices are less than the stores in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley."

"Oh?"

"Yes, the second hand books are ten to fifteen dollars less than any store in England, so in a sense it is a discount bookstore. The book you're holding is one of my most expensive books, but seeing as its second hand," she pointed to the few wayward strands at the bottom of the cover, "I cut the price almost in half."

Tom looked down at the book skeptically. "So in essence you're saying that this book would be seventy galleons at Flourish and Blotts."

"More like fifty, being that it's a second edition."

Tom stared at the book anew. A second edition Maurice Bottwatter for thirty-five galleons was a steal indeed. Unfortunately, seeing as he only had forty galleons, he couldn't spend it all on one book. Besides, this was all the money he had. "Well, that is a bargain. Unfortunately, it's not really what I was looking for. He said, and turned away from the proprietress to put the book back on the shelf.

"I see," Hermione said. And she did see, although it was hard to believe that the well-dressed gentlemen standing in front of her couldn't easily shell out thrity-five galleons for a book. He was dressed in a navy sports coat that was tailored perfectly over his large shoulders, a white oxford shirt, and khakis. He looked as if he had just popped over from Cambridge, where he studied business or international law, careers that were respectable for the son of a wealthy aristocrat. Of course that would mean that he was a muggle, which he wasn't. So that left pureblood, and yet she doubted that by his lack of funds. Pureblood wizard were usually flush with cash, although there was a first time for everything. Still, he carried himself as a man who knew he could get what he wanted just by raising a dark brow. This was a man who was assured of his place in the world.

With his classic movie star looks it was easy to see why he wouldn't lack confidence. Hermione had been around beautiful men before, but the one in front of her practically took her breath away. His slightly tousled raven hair set off cornflower blue eyes that sat above majestic cheekbones, a slim nose, and somewhat full lips. He had the kind of flawless skin that one usually only saw on airbrushed models in cosmetic ads. He was lightly tanned, as if it his skin had been teased by the sun, and Hermione was certain the results were accomplished with a potion. Tom was British and it was barely April, an easy deduction, plus his tan was too perfect to be natural.

So why was a man who dressed to perfection and acted as if he could purchase anything he desired on a whim, shopping for bargain books?

Did it matter? Not really, but she was bored. It was quite lonely in her little bookstore with the lack of customers. She'd been such a fool to purchase this shop without researching the area better, but she'd fallen in love with it and the small village on first sight. Hermione hadn't come to Wales to purchase a bookstore. She'd been on a holiday, a holiday that she now regretted.

"Miss," Tom inquired, pulling Hermione from her maudlin thoughts.

"Pardon?"

"I asked if you were unwell."

"Yes, I meant no. I'm," she sighed, and pushed the curls back from her face, "would you like a spot of tea?"

Tom blinked, now this was unexpected.

"I know it's a bit odd, but…" she trailed off lamely. What, she was bored, so she just decided to ask a perfect stranger if he'd like to join her for tea? This was not like her. _Get it together Granger,_ she chided. "Never mind, you came to look for books, and I need to sell one or two today. So let me-"

"I'd like tea, as long as I can get your name with it."

Her cheeks pinked, "Its Granger… I meant, Hermione, Hermione Granger."

He held out his hand to her, "Riddle, Thomas Riddle."

Hermione put her small hand into his much larger one, and said "It's nice to meet you Mr. Riddle," and felt her world begin shift. Little did she realize how quickly the shift would occur.

* * *

"So, how do you like Willowyth," Tom asked, settling into a chair across from Hermione.

"I love it. It's wonderful little town and the residents are very friendly." She said, taking a sip of Earl Grey. She loved the smell of bergamot and lemons. It soothed her senses almost as much as the smell of parchment and leather.

"Do you live here or apparate in daily?"

"I live here."

"And you like it?"

Hermione was in the process of raising the cup to her mouth, but paused at the blatant skepticism in his tone. Why was he skeptical? She knew the town wasn't anything to rave about, but it was quaint, the people were kind, and it was a lot less chaotic than Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. She didn't answer his question, but posed her own. "Where do you live?"

"London."

"Ah, I see."

"Do you," he said raising an eyebrow.

"There are a lot of entertainments in London. Someone who enjoys a faster lifestyle wouldn't understand why someone would enjoy living in Willowyth." She took another sip of her tea, and placed the cup and saucer on the little round wooden table between them.

Tom opened his mouth to reply but paused in thought. Did he enjoy the entertainments in London? Not especially, although when he was finished working, he often liked to go to the pub near his apartment for a pint beer or a glass of scotch. He enjoyed fine dining, the opera, soirees, and the occasional ball. The balls weren't always located in London, and he only attended those thrown by the most influential hostesses in Europe. Mostly, he enjoyed being close to people who would always pick up the tab for various entertainments. He may not be flush with cash at the moment, but his pedigree was exceptional. As Slytherin's hair, he was invited everywhere and rarely had to reach into his own pockets.

"I often partake in the many entertainments London has to offers, but I enjoy reading a good book in a quiet space more. So I suppose I could see why someone who surrounds herself with books would prefer living in a quieter setting. But surely you must get out on occasion."

"There are small entertainments to be had here. I assure you, Mr. Riddle, that this isn't a convent. There are assemblies, poetry readings, plays, and picnics when the weather permits."

"Sounds," he searched his vast vocabulary for an appropriate word, but only came up with, "quaint."

"It is." Hermione smiled, brown eyes sparkling. She seemed to be looking somewhere beyond him, to a place that held secrets that only she knew. It was marked change from the women he'd first laid eyes on ten minutes ago. Tom wanted to know what she knew. He was curious that way. Always seeking knowledge that others had and then learning more. He was always the smartest person in the room. But here, in this shabby little bookstore, sitting on this second hand furniture, he felt as if he didn't know nearly as much as the lovely young woman sitting across from him.

"Mr. Riddle?" She asked suddenly, her voice cautious.

"Yes?"

"How long are you in town?"

"I'm only here for today."

"Really? How did you hear about my shop?"

"An associate suggested it to me."

"Someone you work with," she asked, reaching for her tea cup.

Tom swallowed the last of his tea before replying, "no, I don't have co-workers. I work alone."

"What do you do, if you don't mind my asking?" She added the last in a rush.

Tom didn't like discussing his career choice or the reason for his lack of quid. They were not one and the same. Tom was wealthy, exceedingly so, it was just too damn bad he couldn't touch a single sickle or pound, which meant he had to work. Tom often didn't understand why someone with his NEWT scores had chosen to tread the path he was currently on. But the truth was simple; he didn't like taking orders from anyone. Thomas Marvolo Riddle was a natural born leader and nothing under the sun would change that. Especially not bending to his Uncle Morfin's will. His uncle and un-dearly departed father where the reasons behind his current money woes.

The silence stretched and Hermione wondered if perhaps he was into something illegal. She hoped not. He seemed…well, nice would be too strong a word…intelligent. And even if he was involved in illegal activities they sure weren't lucrative. He was in her bookstore looking for discounted books after all. No, he wasn't into anything illegal. Perhaps he was stripper? He was bloody gorgeous, so he could be. No, strippers usually made good money from what she'd learned on a talk show, although they had been women, perhaps men didn't make as much. Hermione chewed over the thought before casting it away. No, he couldn't be a stripper. He'd definitely be, as the Americans say, rolling in the dough. Where there even wizard strippers? She looked at his lips, too bad. She'd consider-

"I'm a tutor," Tom said, disrupting her thoughts.

"Oh," Hermione said feeling slightly let down. God, what was she thinking? She, Hermione Granger, the logical, good girl was having thoughts of a sexual nature about a complete stranger. She really needed to shag someone soon. It had been…a very long time. "Tha-that's wonderful," she said feeling her cheeks warm. _Stop blushing, stop blushing._

"I wouldn't say that it was wonderful, but it pays the bills."

"I would. You're helping to shape young minds. That's a noble occupation."

He snorted, _nobble occupation, indeed. _ As if helping some snot nosed kids prepare for Hogwarts was something to brag about. He needed an out. He needed to get control of his inheritances, well at least the one from his father. Morfin would have to die in order for him to get Salazar's. Tom was sorely tempted to make the latter happen. He was twenty-nine years old for Merlin's sake. He had a year to fulfill the terms of his father's will or lose everything.

"I see you don't agree."

"Perhaps if I was a professor, but I tutor those who have yet to receive their Hogwarts letters. Although I do tutor the occasional dunce over the summer break."

"Just because one doesn't learn fast doesn't mean they're a dunce."

He placed his teacup on the table between them, "spoken like a true Gryffindor."

"Sneered like a Slytherin."

"A true Slytherin," he added with a wink. "McGonagall must have loved you."

"And what if she did?" Hermione said prissily.

Tom held up his hands in supplication, "just making an observation."

"I was her favorite student, as I'm sure you were Slughorn's."

"Guilty." Tom ceded, not adding that he was almost every teacher's favorite. He was surprised to be enjoying their conversation, as silly as it was, which was so unlike him. But she was a pretty witch, with a quick wit, and highly intelligent, if her confirmation about being the old bags favorite was anything to go by. It was rare to find a witch with beauty and brains. So rare that he was beginning to wonder what it would be like to bed the woman in front of him. Would they discuss arithmancy post coitus?

"Would you like more tea, Mr. Riddle?"

"No, I'd like something else."

"Oh?"

"Something sweet," Tom replied, eyes raking slowly down her frame.

Hermione's eyes widened. He couldn't be suggesting…no, he hadn't even brought her dinner. She'd only met him an hour ago, probably less than that and he was suggesting… She should tell him to get out, to leave and never return. How dare he? She was indignant, well, she tried to be. But it was hard when every place his eyes touched felt like a physical caress. Her nipples hardened beneath her shirt and liquid began to pool in her panties making her want to squirm. Who exactly was Thomas Riddle, and what the hell was he doing to her? She would think it was a spell, but she knew it wasn't. It had just been so long…and she was bored. Was boredom a fair reason to have sex with a stranger? She was about to find out.

Hermione waved her wand in a series of complicated movements, triggering the closing wards system, and stood. "I think I have some cookies up stair." She turned and walked towards the back of the room without pausing to see if he followed.

He did.

Ooo

_Six hours, thirty minutes, eighteen seconds, five orgasms, two bottles of wine, a box of leftover takeout, and three debates about Runes later, _Hermione sighed contentedly against Tom's chest.

"A sickle for your thoughts," Tom asked into Hermione's damp curls.

"It's just odd. I've never, ever, done anything like this before."

"Done anything like what: shag a perfect stranger, have multiple orgasms, eat takeout in bed, consume two bottles of wine in one sitting, or be proven wrong?"

She elbowed him in the side. "You did not prove me wrong, I'll have you—"

Tom leaned in and kissed Hermione, effectively cutting of what was sure to be a tedious lecture on how smart she was and that her views were as valid as his, and how they couldn't prove his theories because they hadn't tested them. He'd tested them of course, but as she hadn't been present she didn't necessarily believe him. Oh, but she wasn't calling him a liar either. He smirked, as his tongue slid along her bottom lip. She tasted like berries, up top and down below. He could write a dissertation on how good she tasted.

Hermione mewed in pleasure like a little kitten, which made his cock harden. She was tight, so unbearably tight that he knew she had very little sexual experience. If Tom had his way, and he would, she wouldn't be touched by another until he was finished with her. He had the oddest feeling that that would never happen. He knew that she would keep him satisfied for years. Her beauty, intelligence, innocence, and wit combined to make a remarkable witch.

"Mia," he breathed pulling up from the kiss.

"Mia," Hermione echoed, "I don't know if I like that."

"How about this," he said and sucked a rosy nipple into his mouth, before biting down on the tip.

Hermione gasped, and loss track of thought for the rest of the night.

_Four more orgasms, five hours, twenty-three minutes, and ten seconds of sleep later_

"What time is it?" Hermione yawned, sitting up in the small double bed. She looked over at Tom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed in his slacks and shirt.

He turned to her, "eight o'clock."

"Shit, I need to open the store." Hermione moved to the edge of the bed and stood up. "But first I need to take show and air this room out."

"What's wrong with it?" Tom asked innocently.

"It smells like-"

"Sex," he smirked, and reached for her. Tom pulled her naked body flush against his clothed one. His fingers slid up and down her backside. "We should bottle this smell. I bet we'd make millions."

"Eau De Sex," Hermione said, pretending to think, "I like it. It has a certain je ne sais quoi. What do you think Junior?" Hermione smiled at his sour expression. She kissed him lightly on the lips. "What, you did say that you were named after your father."

He slapped her hard on the bum, "cheeky witch,

"Ouch," she cried and then moaned when began rubbing circles against her reddening backside.

"I also told you that I disliked the name."

"Why, I sort of like it."

"Sort of?"

"I like Junior better."

He growled.

"How about J.R. for Just Riddle."

"I think I prefer Junior," he grouched, not believing he was going to let her call him that.

"So there we have it, Mia and Jr.

"Shouldn't it be Jr. and Mia? J does come before M, Mia."

She ignored him, "Mia and Jr. present Eau De Sex perfume, a fragrance that will keep you up all night."

"We'd make millions."

"I'd settle for a hundreds of thousands." She sighed. "I really need to open the store. I might just have a customer today-one who'll actually purchase something." She said eyeing him accusingly.

"I did purchase something." He said gripping her waist tightly.

She raised an eyebrow.

"You." He said without the slightest hint of amusement in his voice.

"I didn't know I was a commodity."

"You weren't, until I decided it."

"You are very sure of yourself Jr."

"I am always sure of myself Mia. But what I'm not sure of is what you're willing to do to get out the mess you're in."

"What mess," Hermione said, beginning to pull away, but was halted by his hands on her waste.

"You can't afford to keep running this store like it is." Tom let her slip from his fingers, and watched hypnotized by her curves as she retrieved a pink, silk robe from the back of her bedroom door and slipped it on.

Hermione tied the belt, affectively shutting off his view of her body, before facing him. "And how do you know what I can and cannot afford?"

Tom picked up a thick brown folder from the nightstand and tossed it on the bed.

Hermione to gasped, "You read through my ledger. How dare—"

"Before you say something you'll regret—"

"I seriously doubt that I'll regret anything I say to a man who took it upon himself to snoop in my belongings—"

He sneered, "I do not snoop."

"Then what the hell do you call it," Hermione practically yelled. She felt violated. She knew it was stupid to feel betrayed by someone she'd known less than twenty-four hours, but she did. There was just something about Tom. It was like they'd known each other in a past life. She'd never clicked with anyone the way she had with him.

"Do. Not. Raise. Your. Voice. At. Me." Tom said, accentuating each word with a precision that cut like a knife. His eyes began to darken in anger. "I want to help you," he raised a hand when she began to interrupt, "you told me last night there were some issues. I wanted to know what exactly they were."

Tom rose from the bed and approached Hermione who stood frowning at him. She hadn't like the coldness in his tone, but it didn't surprise her. She wasn't sure why, but it didn't. Why was that? This was strange, this entire situation was strange. She'd hopped into a bed with a man she barely knew, and yet she felt more comfortable with him than she'd felt with any man she'd dated in the past.

Hermione didn't pull away when Tom placed his smooth palm against her chin and raised her head so that she was looking up at him.

"There's something between us Mia, something I can't quit describe, but it almost feels as if I were meant to come here on the day that I did. Like this was meant to be, we were meant to be."

"I don't believe in prophesy."

"Then believe in me."

Hermione blinked, unable to handle the intensity in azure gaze. "I-"

"Let me help you, my Mia."

"H-how?"

"I have a proposal for you?"

Hermione scrunched up her forehead in thought, "a proposal?"

"Yes, marry me."

"That sounded like a command."

He brought his lips against hers, "It was."

* * *

Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, and added to their favorites. I was pleasantly surprised by the interest in this story. I didn't think I'd get any reviews, so I really appreciate it.

I don't have a beta, so I apologize for any grammatical errors.

Wedding Affirmations

It was lace, simple and chic. The dress Tom had given her wasn't something she'd have picked out herself, but it was beautiful and the fit was impeccable. The strapless, empire waist gown fit her body from breast to hips before falling in a gentle A-line. The only adornment was an ivory ribbon covered in matching seed pearls under her breast. Hermione ran her hands down the fine lace, amazed at how delicate it felt underneath her fingers. She was certain the dress cost more than her monthly rent. When Tom told her he'd take care of everything, she hadn't expected him to provide a gown. Hermione would have chosen a suit or cocktail dress, not a gown made of French Chantilly lace. It was too formal for a wedding that would only have two witnesses.

"What I am doing," Hermione asked her reflection, as she straightened the veil over her curls, which were tamed for the first time. Tom had insisted that a professional do her hair and makeup, which again, she thought was too much. Hermione was beginning to realize that nothing was simple about the man she was about to marry. A man she'd known less than a week.

_This is reckless,_ she thought, and Hermione was rarely reckless. She had done few reckless things in her life. After all, she was a Gryffindor. It was expected for those of her house to occasionally find themselves in situations that defied logic. Once Hermione's friend, Luna Lovegood, had invited her to go skinny-dipping in the Black Lake in the middle of March. Luna said that ancient witches used to swim naked under the full moon, so Hermione should at least do it once. She had never understood why they'd needed to swim in March? Perhaps, if she had had more confidence in her place in the wizarding world, she would have declined the invitation. But she hadn't, and ended up with a terrible cold. Luna had been fine.

But this, this was more than two teenager girls swimming starkers out in the open for anyone to see. She was committing herself to a complete stranger for a minimum of ten years. Of course, being a man, Tom could divorce her in half that time. The laws governing the wizarding world were antiquated in their treatment of witches. Men had most of the power in magical marriages. This was risky, but what choice did she have? Hermione wanted to keep Questions & Answers opened, and Tom had presented her way to do that.

* * *

"Marriage is a huge step Tom. We hardly know each other," Hermione said. Two days had passed since Tom's "proposal" and Hermione had yet to reply. Tom hadn't pushed her, so she'd assumed the entire thing was a bit of a lark, until he broached the subject again tonight.

"I know, but we're both financially strapped. Marrying me will get you out of debt, and give me the inheritance that should have been mine the minute the bastard keeled over. "

"I'm not indebt."

"Mia, you can't keep this place going indefinitely. You barely broke even last month, and at the rate this month's sales are looking, you will be indebt." Tom took her hand in his, and pulled her closer to him on the couch. "Let me help you."

"Don't you mean yourself?"

He smiled, "Of course." Tom brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back. His eyes never left hers. There was something about the way he looked at her that made every nerve stand at attention. "I always take care of myself, Mia. Always. I am the most important person in my life, but that doesn't mean that I won't take care of you. As my wife, you'll never want for anything. No more worrying about paying rent, or finding the money to purchase new books, or eating leftovers for days on end."

It sounded perfect. Never having to worry about money. Hermione was tired of worrying about money. Her parents had had to worry about paying their bills and her tuition, but they had never let her know it. She had known though, the exchange rate from pounds to galleons was steep enough that she could have gone to a posh Swiss boarding school. Her parents had only survived due a partial scholarship that was mostly used for muggleborn students.

"And definitely," Tom continued, unaware of Hermione's musings, "No more cheap wine. The stuff you purchase has to be the worst wine I've ever had in my life."

Hermione smiled, "You drank enough bottles of it."

"Well, there was nothing else to be had."

"Water." Hermione offered.

Tom Scoffed. "Water is for poor people."

"Which we are."

"No luv, you're the only poor one."

Hermione attempted to pull her hand from his, but Tom held onto it.

"Now, now, don't get angry. I only said what was true. I will inherit two fortunes, while you've already spent your small inheritance on this failing bookstore." Tom motioned with his hand around the empty store.

"I don't need you to remind me that my store is failing." Hermione bit out, snatching her hand from his. Her hand throbbed after extracting it from his firm grip, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of rubbing it.

Tom lounged back in against the couch and began inspecting his fingernails. "I am trying to help you, but your being rather…difficult about it.

"If I am being so difficult, why don't you find someone else?"

"I could do that, but I find most women tedious after sex. I want a wife who can engage me mentally, not just physical." Tom paused to closely inspect one nail. "I fear that Hogwarts's curriculum is not the same for males and females, at least less is expected of females."

Hermione scowled. "I received nine NEWTs."

"I received eleven, but that's neither here no there. How many other girls in your years took that many courses"

_None_, Hermione thought. She had been an oddity at Hogwarts. She was the smartest muggleborn to ever enter Hogwarts, and the headmaster had told her upon graduation that she was one of the smartest witches too. Hermione was sure Dumbledore would swallow his words if he knew of her current predicament.

"That's what I thought." Tom drawled into the tense silence. "You know that this is the easiest solution to your financial troubles.

Hermione returned to the couch. "Easiest, but not the only. I could always sell the shop."

"And in incur more debt while waiting for a buyer. Willowyth isn't exactly an ideal location for a successful bookstore and anyone with a modicum of business acumen will know that from looking at your books."

Hermione cringed at his comment; it felt like an indirect insult. She hadn't combed over the books when she purchased the shop, which had been unbelievably stupid. Tom was right. No one would purchase the bookstore, at least not as it was.

"And if said businessman purchased the shop, he would tear it down and build a fine dining restaurant, as there doesn't seem to be one in the town. The right restaurant could draw people to the Willowyth, which would have a positive influence on the economy. I've heard that a group of investors are interested in giving the town an overhaul by turning it into tourist destination for the wealthy.

Hermione gasped, "But that's horrible. Real-estate prices would double, and some people would be force to sell their shops and relocate to other areas. Most of the residents have lived here for years."

"The town is located by the sea, which makes it an ideal location for the spring and summer holidays. Wizards wouldn't have to shell out galleons for an international portkey. They could apparate right into the town or use the floo network."

"What about the residents? Were would they go?"

Tom shrugged. "It's not personal Hermione, it's business."

"And that makes it okay?"

"The only thing it makes it…is business. Business is not about flowery emotions." Tom held up a hand to stall Hermione's comments. "There are those who run successful companies that they are emotionally attached to, but those people also did the necessary ground work before starting their companies." Tom reached over and pushed a wayward curl away from Hermione face. His finger lingered lightly against her cheek. "You have the mind for business but not the heart. I, on the other hand, have both."

Hermione wanted to lean into his touch, to fall into his beguiling eyes. _I'm so tired, so very tired,"_ she thought.

As if hearing her thoughts, Tom cupped her cheek and slid closer. "Marry me, Mia. Let me help you. Let me take care of you."

Hermione swallowed, she couldn't remember the last time anyone had taken care of her. Hermione considered herself a modern day woman, someone who could take care of herself. Her parents had stepped in when she needed help, even if she never asked for it. They always just seemed to know if she needed something, be it money or advice. She needed them now-to tell her what to do-but they died three years ago.

"How long?"

"You and I only have to marry. The will doesn't stipulate how long. The act just needs to be done; however, since we are wizards, we will have to stay together a minimum five years. I would be willing to file for divorce if that's what you want by that time."

"It might be what you want."

"We'll never know until try."

Grabbing her hand, Tom pulled Hermione towards him until she was practically in his lap. His gripped her waist as he brought his mouth down to hers. His soft lips belied the demanding power in them. Things low in her body began to awaken under his commanding touch. His hands slid down back and over her ass, until they gripped the back of her thighs. He dug his fingers into her supple flesh, lifted her, as if she were as light as a quill, and set her down on his lap.

Hermione ended the kiss when she felt his hardness against her core.

"Say yes," Tom said, grinding himself against her.

Hermione ground down on top of him. "I."

"You know you want too Mia." He said, before planting light kisses on her neck.

"I-I can't think."

"No worries, love, I can think for both of us."

_Two orgasms, a gallon of water, and one hour of sleep later, found Hermione and Tom cuddled close on the sofa. _

"So after you're married, you'll come into this inheritance?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, my father's will stipulates that I must marry before my thirtieth birthday or my inheritance will pass on to a cousin."

"I don't understand. How can your father put restriction on your inheritance? I'm not an expert on the peerage, but the earldom falls under primogeniture, which means that the eldest son inherits the estate."

"That only includes the title.

"Shouldn't the money and house be attached to the estate?"

"It used to be that way, but the Act of Wills allows my father to decide who inherits what. Some people use it to spread the wealth between children.

Hermione thought that was a good idea. She never understood the purpose of leaving an entire fortune to one person when there where other children to consider.

"But my father," Tom spat, "is doing this as a way to control my life. He was always trying to control my life."

Hermione tilted her head to look up at him. "Why?"

"He didn't like magic."

"But, why?"

"He wanted his son to be a real aristocrat, which meant going to Eton and then to Oxford like the Riddle men had been doing for centuries. My being a wizard ruined the families perfect record."

"How can you father have such an aversion to marriage when he married your mother?

"My mother is practically a squib. My father hoped that I would have her talents."

Hermione could sympathize with Tom, but she couldn't relate. Her parents had been supportive of her from the moment they had discovered she was a witch. They had only worried about how she would fit into her new world, and what effect it would have one the family. It hadn't had much. Her parents had always known that at she would go away for college. It had just happened sooner than they'd anticipated.

"I did go though," Tom continued, pulling Hermione from her thoughts.

"Pardon."

"To Oxford."

Hermione turned onto her stomach and slid up his chest, so that she could look him in the eyes. "You…went to Oxford."

"Yes. The old man wouldn't have paid my Hogwarts tuition if I hadn't agreed to go to Oxford after graduation."

"But, how?"

"Magic," he winked.

"You spelled you way in."

"It's called charms my dear, amongst other things."

Hermione frowned, "Like what? You didn't do something illegal did you?"

"Illegal like what?"

"You know…casting an unforgivable on someone in administrations."

Tom eyes met hers and in them she saw something more than what was presented in front of her. She just couldn't put her finger on what that something was.

He kissed her chin, "I am the smartest wizard to every graduate from Hogwarts. Do you think me incapable of creating the perfect transcript, one with four A* A-levels?"

"Hermione huffed, "I suppose, but it's cheating. My cousin studied extremely hard to pass hers but only managed three B's."

"She should have been born a witch."

Hermione shook her head. Her long curls fell on either side of his face. "Has anyone ever told you that you are incorrigible?"

Tom gathered her hair into his hands and pulled her closer to him. "There are not many who would dare."

* * *

It all seemed so simple when Hermione thought back. Getting married would solve her financial troubles, but what troubles would-

"Hermione," interrupted Luna, "the minister's ready. I think that's the correct term for the person about to marry you to…what his name again?

"Tom, Luna. His name is Tom." Hermione smoothed her hands down her gown once more and then opened the door.

Luna Lovegood stared at Hermione with large blue eyes that often looked as if she were a little high, with Luna you never knew. If she were a muggle, she would be called a hippie or new age.

"You look great Hermione."

Hermione smiled as best she could. "Thanks, Lu. You look…nice yourself." Hermione said staring down at Luna's dark blue sheath dress with a black beaded swan down the front and light blue peplum that might have been made of real swan feathers.

Luna beamed. "You think?"

"It's ah-very Bjork."

"Who?"

"Muggle singer, don't worry about. We should head into the chapel."

Luna nodded and led the way.

Hermione swallowed, took a deep breath, and gathered all of her Gryffindor courage. Everything would be okay.

* * *

Hermione Riddle sat in the lobby of the wedding register office still dressed in her wedding gown. Tom had insisted that they register with the ministry as soon as possible. He wanted to cover both sides of his family: muggle, for the inheritance and wizard, for legal purposes.

Hermione felt ridiculous sitting in the ministry in a gown, while the employees walked about in business attire. She would have transfigured her dress into something more presentable, but she wasn't good at the fine art of transfiguring clothes. Hermione could turn pebble into a stool in seconds, but it took her much longer to shift fabrics from one shape to another. In truth, she'd thought it was useless topic in school and had rebelled at being forced to learn something merely because she was a female. It wasn't until she was older that she realized that being able to transfigure clothing could be handy.

"Why couldn't we have come tomorrow?" Hermione asked grumpily.

"Because I wanted to get this taken care of today," Tom said.

Hermione pouted, and crossed her arms under her breast.

Tom looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "I would appreciate it if you would keep my property under wraps. "

Hermione looked at him peculiarly, to which Tom raised an eyebrow and tilted his head towards her breast, which were straining against the lace, ready to spill out.

She gasped, quickly removed her hands and placed them in her lap. "They are not your property."

"They are if they are apart of you." He smirked.

Hermione didn't like the insinuation but she wouldn't make a fuss about it, now. It was not the time, nor the place. So instead she said, "Well, then, so are your…" she waved her hands in her circle in attempt to find the right word to say without being crass, "bits."

Tom laughed, "Is that's the best word you could come up with?"

"I was trying to be delicate," She sniffed, cheeks pinking.

Tom leaned in and whispered in her hear, "There will be nothing delicate about the way I use my…bits—when we get home." Tom sat back and watched as the pink flush that suffused Hermione cheeks darkened to bright red.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times unable to find the right response. "You…I-can't be-"she stammered. Warm, she felt extremely warm, as if there was a fire burning under her chair. Her heart rate increased, her breathing became heavier, and nipples hardened against the silk lining of her dress. She didn't understand how such simple words could arouse her. She shouldn't be surprised; her new husband could set her blood aflame with a single look.

"Tom Riddle, you're next," said register.

Tom stood, pulled Hermione up and walked into the register office.

The wedding registers office was small, and not particularly festive. There was a wooden desk in the middle of the room with black wingback chair behind it and two armchairs in the front. The walls were eggshell white with a wooden bookshelf one and a small painting of rolling hills, which swayed in an invisible wind, hung opposite. Hermione wondered if the other two offices were as plan as Mr. Bluth's. It wasn't a bad office, but she expected something with a bit more character. She supposed the office fit the short, thin, bespectacled man, sitting in a chair across for her and Tom.

"Congratulations," he said. It sounded like a question.

"Thank you, sir," Tom said, projecting his most pleasant demeanor.

Mr. Bluth picked up a piece of parchment from a folder that lay open on his desk. "I see that you were married in the muggle fashion."

"Yes," Tom replied.

"Yet, you're not a muggleborn," He stated.

"No sir, but certain circumstances prohibited me from having a traditional wizard wedding."

Mr. Bluth replaced the parchment and flipped through the other documents. "Ah, I see, yes, yes." He said, "quite the inheritance, my boy."

Tom didn't reply. He was not this man's boy, and he found the idea of talking to strangers about money to be churlish. He had spoken to Hermione about such things, but in his defense, she had never felt like a stranger. She felt as if she had always belonged to him, like something he'd misplaced and found just when he needed it.

The register cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. "Mrs. Riddle," He said, turning to Hermione.

"Yes sir."

"Have you willingly committed yourself to Mr. Riddle in marriage?"

It was an odd question, and Hermione wasn't sure what to say. The first word that came to her mind was, duh, but it wouldn't be the proper answer, even if it were true. Did this man think that Tom had forced her into this union? "Well, of course," she said, unable to hide the incredulity in her voice on Tom's behalf.

"My apologies Mrs. Riddle, I didn't mean to offend," Mr. Bluth said, swiping a hand down his thin brown hair, which seemed to be running away from his forehead. "It's just that, well, in the wizarding world, women were quite often coerced into marriages, especially if money was involved, although the female was usually an heiress, which is not the case with you… Still, this is apart of the procedure. There have been cases, not so much today, where obsessed men have threatened and cajoled females into marriages, which bound the female to the man for at least ten years, unless…" He trailed off perhaps thinking that a man throwing his wife over was too delicate for Hermione's sensitive female ears.

"Unless, what? The wizard kicks his wife to the curb in five years." Hermione knew that she was being a bit sensitive, but the wizarding world was full of chauvinists, particularly purebloods.

"The-the-what curb?"

"It's a muggle saying for get rid off, like tossing out the rubbish, or specific to this case, divorce. That is what you wanted to say, was it not Mr. Bluth? You must not worry about emotions getting the best of me. I am quite capable of hearing hard truths. I shall not faint at the idea of my husband leaving me. Unlike most—pureblood witches, I have enough wit to take care of myself."

Mr. Bluth looked at Tom as if he were his savior, while Tom stared at his nails, unconcerned with the little man. "Pardon if I caused offense."

"I wasn't not offended," Hermione said, lifting her lips in what some would call a smile, even if it never reached her eyes.

"Are we quite done," Tom drawled, finally looking at Mr. Bluth. He had better things to do, like owling his manicurist.

"Well, ah," Mr. Bluth said, nervously, " yes. You just have to hold out your hands, so that I can say the affirmation and perform the spell."

Tom stood and helped Hermione to her feet, and they turned as one to face Mr. Bluth, who had walked around his desk and stood with his back to the door.

"Please hold each others right hands," instructed Mr. Bluth. Holding his wand aloft, he began the affirmation. "Tom and Hermione have entered into the sacred union of marriage." He swished his wand over their hands in delicate patterns." "By entering into this union, Hermione has vowed to love, honor, and obey her husband in all things, and Tom has vowed to love, honor, and protect his wife. Together may they-"

Hermione tuned out the rest of the words, hanging on to one, obey. She had not promised to obey Tom in all things. The vows were antiquated in the muggle world, especially after the women's movement. She wasn't Gloria Steinem, but she did considered herself to be somewhat of a feminist. The idea of obeying someone in all things, especially a person she rarely knew, didn't sit well with her. She opened her mouth to speak, but froze when the register said-"

"Many blessings. You marriage has now been registered with this ministry."

"Thank you," Tom said, taking Hermione by elbow.

Hermione stared at the man as if he'd grown an extra head.

"Well," Mr. Bluth said, easing around them to his desk, "I have other couples to see. Good luck to you both."

"Thank you for your well wishes," Tom said, gently leading Hermione towards the door.

She was halfway out the door when Mr. Bluth called, "Remember your vows Mrs. Riddle."

Hermione stopped and looked back at the slight man. He eyed her solemnly and nodded his head. Tom tugged lightly on her elbow, and she turned away, wondering, not for the first time, if she hadn't just made a huge mistake.

* * *

Thank you for reading.


End file.
